


The Odd Snake Out

by Dawn1000



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dorne (A Song of Ice and Fire), Family Dynamics, It's an oc-insert, Multi, Politics, Self-Insert, but not really, idk - Freeform, kinda a Dorne wank?, sporadic schedule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn1000/pseuds/Dawn1000
Summary: In a universe where a woman from the regular world is reincarnated as the twin of Sarella Sand, she becomes the odd snake out. In a universe with a different fifth Sand Snake, the future of House Martell is altered, and with it, the rest of Westeros. Very Dorne-centric.
Relationships: Jynessa Blackmont/Original Female Character, Nymeria Sand/Fowler Twins, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	The Odd Snake Out

Areo Hotah, captain of Prince Doran Martell's guard, stands at the doors of his solar, long axe in hand. He stands at sharp attention, fingers clenching and unclenching around the grip of his weapon, eyes narrowed for any forms in dim light. Even with the torches, it is a dark night. There is no moon and the stars offer little illumination here, and flames dance in uneven patterns across the wall.

Slowly, a short, lean figure makes its way to him. Hotah tenses for a moment before recognizing it. "Hotah," says Prince Oberyn's fifth-born daughter. Her voice is soft, no more than a whisper, and he strains to hear her. "I believe I have been summoned by my uncle."

She is dressed in the bright silks of Dorne. She wears light orange trousers and an orange tunic. Soft brown boots which reach the calf have been slipped onto her feet. A golden chain hangs from her neck, a pendant of a sun-and-spear attached to it.

"He awaits you inside, Lady Ashala," Hotah replies. He opens the doors of his liege's solar quietly and guides her to Prince Doran. She pauses, for a moment, at the sight of Prince Oberyn before nodding in acknowledgement.

"Uncle. Father. I believe I have been requested."

Prince Doran gestures for her to sit. She does so and short black curls bounce. They frame an angular face, sharper than any of her sisters', and two chips of obsidian which glitter against her teak colored skin.

"Robb Stark is dead," Prince Doran says. He takes a sip of wine from his goblet. Lady Ashala sighs deeply.

"Just as I told you would happen, Uncle, and his father before him."

"And Viserys Targaryen," Prince Oberyn cuts in.

"And Viserys Targaryen," she amends.

"In the families of Old Valyria," Prince Doran says slowly, "Many often received premonitions. Dragon dreams, they called them. The Targaryens were no exception. Is it possible you've… inherited this ability from the first Daenerys?"

Lady Ashala closes her eyes. Long, nimble fingers reach out to rub at her temples. Silence ensues for a long moment.

"I'm afraid not," she admits. "Or at least if I have received one, I haven't had another. Not since- not since the accident." She touches absentmindedly at the place where her sternum and collarbone meet with one hand. The fingers attached to the other dance along her forearm. Prince Doran's lips thin. Prince Oberyn's expression is seized by fury.

"You received this vision at all of nine," he says lowly, dangerously. "You have been carrying with you this burden for nearly _ten years_ and we have been powerless to help you because for some damnable reason, you never saw fit to tell us."

Lady Ashala winces.

"Father-"

"Later, Oberyn," Prince Doran says firmly. His brother's eyes snap to him, narrowed in rage, but he swallows audibly, throat bobbing, and relents. "What can you tell us, Ashala, that you have not yet?"

At this, the girl flinches. Her lips draw into a single thin line and her shoulders hunch. She stares down at the floor. Her fingers drift back to her sternum. "The truth is a terrible thing," she says, and this is the gravest Hotah has ever witnessed her. It is rare to see the fifth Sand Snake without a quick smile or an easy laugh, and the difference this night is jarring. "I do not know if it is something you truly wish to know."

"I do," her uncle replies.

Still, she hesitates. "I can only tell you so much," she warns. "Partly because I only have so much information and partly because if things change too much and too quickly, everything I know will be rendered useless. I'm a one-trick pony."

There's a moment of silent contemplation at her words. Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn exchange a long, wordless glance. Then the Ruling Prince of Dorne waves a hand for her to continue.

Lady Ashala straightens.

"Do not send Quentyn to bargain with the Queen across the water," she says, "And tell Arianne of your original plan. Be wary of Darkstar- keep a close eye on him- and scrutinize closely the dragon backed by bitter steel. Remain in contact with Sarella once she leaves for Old Town. And let me go with Father to King's Landing."

"Sending Quentyn to marry Daenerys Targaryen is the greatest asset we have," Prince Doran argues.

"To topple the Baratheons, mayhaps," Lady Ashala agrees.

"What else do you suggest?" Prince Oberyn folds his arms across his chest. Her eyes shift to meet his. The dancing flames of the torches reflect in them.

"Dorne was the only one of the Seven Kingdoms to not bend the knee to the Conqueror and his sisters," she says quietly. "None of the blades which make the Iron Throne are ours. We never knelt to the dragons, and when we did join the fold, it was on our own terms. We are not content to kneel before the stags or the lions after how they have wronged us, but why should we go back to House Targaryen after Rhaegar abandoned Aunt Elia and Aerys all but signed her death warrant and those of her children? No, being under the thumb of House Targaryen has not served us well since the times of Daeron the Good, and even that was tainted by the Blackfyre Rebellion."

There's an intake of sharp breath.

"What you suggest-"

"What I suggest is that we take a page from the Young Wolf's book, but this time, we do it right. We bide our time. We set our pieces into place. And then we make our move and strike."

"Leave us," Prince Doran commands. It is a dismissal, but not a harsh one. Lady Ashala bows easily and presses a kiss to her uncle's cheek. She does the same for her father.

"I wish you a good night," she says, "And I pray that you heed my words."

With that she spins on her heel and opens the doors. Hotah watches as she walks out, her gate easy and relaxed as if she has not just suggested the most daring, bold-faced plan out of anyone in the room, until she is completely gone from view.

Hotah turns back to his liege and his brother to find them in deep conversation. Their heads ducked, they speak in tense voices, so rapidfire he has trouble catching what they're saying.

_It is not as if that's my duty regardless._

Hotah grips his axe tighter.

No matter what course of action he takes, he will follow his orders.

_Serve. Obey. Protect._

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much an experimental chapter. I might run with it, I might not. Either way it was bouncing around in my head earlier and I had to write it down.


End file.
